THE CALL.
It came to the boy on the farmland, When the sunset was tinting the west, Was it brooklet or zephyr or nightbird That whispered the mighty behest r What matter? He turned from the hillside And followed where stern duty led ; The boy of the plough is a soldier now, Whom Freedom has reared and bred. It came in the gay, crowded ballroom, Through the beat and the crash of the band, Was it sob of harp or viola That murmured the great command? What matter? One heard, and departed, And travelled a toilsome way ; The youth of the dance is the man of the lance, A soldier born in a day. It was not for th»* hate of the foeman; It was not for the sake of the gain, That our lovers have answered the bugle, That our sons lie asleep with the slain. God’s call came clear as the dawning, To stand for the right and the good, The call to the strong to avenge Freedom’s wrong, They heard, and they understood. —Lillie A. Brooks. Toronto, March 30
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/WHIRIB19170818.2.17
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White Ribbon, Volume 23, Issue 266, 18 August 1917, Page 6
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182THE CALL. White Ribbon, Volume 23, Issue 266, 18 August 1917, Page 6
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